


Who's In Charge Here

by The_Stuckness



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Exhibitionism, Fingering, I mean they do it in a hallway, Kinda, M/M, Wall Sex, nook play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6281017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Stuckness/pseuds/The_Stuckness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a game the two of you play, as if to keep things interesting. Or, that's what you tell yourself, but in this moment, as he holds you against the wall and drives his fingers deep into your nook, you're almost convinced that he has full control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's In Charge Here

Deft fingers work along the seam of all too high trousers, battered breaths seeping past the tight purse of swollen lips, and the tips of elfin ears burn a bright red. You try to keep quiet, to cease your incessant whimpers, but it's difficult as your knees feel weak and try to buckle under your slack weight. Your partner in what can be considered unwarranted crime holds you captive as your bulge insists freedom from the unforgiving hold of your leggings. 

The fabric itself is soaked by now, your clothed thighs rubbing together with slick traction between them and the seat of your pants already being wet from the pre-material dripping from your nook. You're a desperate mess in the hands of your captor, head tipped back in order to be firmly pressed against the plaster of the wall as your hips tip forward. Two neat rows of fangs press against your neck and you barely contain the moan you nearly give in reaction. 

His fingers are merciless as they abuse your already swollen nook lips through your leggings, guitar string toughened pads pressing the punishing fabric into you in what little way it can. By now, you can't remember how long it's been since you gave up your vow, how many sweeps you have devoted yourself to the carnal urges that rule your body. But you can't bring yourself to care as he plays you like one of his unruly songs. Except he has his fingers clasped over the strings, forbidding them from uttering a sound. 

Legs try to twitch together before he's tsking under his breath, your back going stiff at the sound. “See chief, told ya you'd be clampin' ovwer me in no time.” His whispered words right into your ear clots causes a soft growl to start deep within your chest, lidded eyes shifting into more of a glare. 

“Cronus Ampora, so help me, if you do not continue this ridiculous game of which you had started-- Against my will, originally, of course, I will not be pleased in the slightest. In fact, I will be incredibly cross and will be left with no choice but to find righteous punishment for your transgr--” 

“Yeah yeah, I get'cha doll, nowv can we get back ta vwork?” His accent irks you, and you intend to say such, among other things, such as the approval of his proposition, but his hands move faster than your lust addled words can. The rip of your trousers is deafening in the hall, and you swear if you haven't been heard yet, that's certainly going to give you away. 

The noise only seems to be processed by you, and that in itself both intrigues you, and causes you to feel relief. Your moment of relief is cut short though by the attentive fingertips pressing along your sensitive lips though, your teeth baring down in order to fight back the gasp that so urgently wishes to escape you. 

Bulge free of it's confinement it searches the cool expanse of Cronus' giving hand, wrapping along his wrist and painting the gray there a soft red, as if marking that he's yours. And he is yours; Cronus Ampora defiles you and pulls you apart, while you hold him captive and make him a better man. No one else could do better than you do with him, and it's obvious in the way you have him trained. How he knows exactly how to work you without prompting, without guidance. You've taught him how to touch and how to give each desired touch appropriately. You've wired him to focus on your pleasure first. 

And you wouldn't have it any other way. 

Not with how his long and callused fingers dip past your folds and press along your heated walls, material dripping down his curled digits as he pleases you without hesitation, while he makes the situation seem to be what it's not. It's a game the two of you play, as if to keep things interesting. Or, that's what you tell yourself, but in this moment, as he holds you against the wall and drives his fingers deep into your nook, you're almost convinced that he has full control. 

“F-Fuck...” You hear a curse and wish to silence it, to stop the scene to reprimand him, but then you realize, you're the one who says it. You're the one pressing your hips into his ministrations and grinding into each movement in order to reach completion. 

Back arched off the wall and lips parted, you guide yourself with the control of his fingers, hold in your noises as you clamp a hand over your mouth, or is that his hand? You... Can't fully comprehend, not as his fingers press against your shameglobes, your body pulsing with a need to finish, and then you see red. 

You might be screaming behind his hand, you confirm it's his by the present coolness against your face, eyes crossing even as you squeeze them shut. And you're gone, legs lax as you drop your weight onto him, your leggings ruined by the rip at the crotch and the liquid tumbling down the inner sides. Though you can't manage to muster up the furious banter you normally would in such an unpleasant situation. 

“Vwell shit, Kan... Vwe really made a mess, huh?”

Normally, this is when you would yell at him, but, lazy eyes fall down to the ground, and while your face may be red, that's alright. And right now, it's alright if the floor is too.


End file.
